


a kiss with a fist is better than none

by rillrill



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: BDSM, Gags, M/M, No Safeword, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 10:16:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2769356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rillrill/pseuds/rillrill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Dennis is a forest fire. Mac is kindling at the ready. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	a kiss with a fist is better than none

**Author's Note:**

> I give up. I'm fucking trash.
> 
> Honestly. Just such fucking trash.

When Mac comes home, he can tell Dennis has been pacing for a while. He does this on the weird nights, stalking around the apartment in a way that, if Mac’s being honest, really freaks him out sometimes. It’s bizarre almost to the point of surreal, but Mac doesn’t ask, just shakes his head, lays a hand on Dennis’s chest to feel his heartbeat thudding through his flesh, and with one hand, presses him down to a seated position on the couch.

He doesn’t ask what’s going on inside Dennis’s head, even though he genuinely wants to know – there are so many questions he wants to ask: where were you tonight, why didn’t you respond to any of my check-ins, what the fuck is up, dude?

But they don’t talk about that kind of stuff, they never do on nights like this, so Mac doesn’t bother. He just leans over Dennis as they kiss, slow at first but then deep and fast. He slides both hands over the sides of Dennis’s throat, just beneath his jaw where the skin is soft and vulnerable, stretched like a drumhead over his pounding pulse. Dennis does nothing, just stays put there on the couch, eyelids nearly sliding shut as Mac pulls away.

“Goddamnit.” It’s somewhere between a whisper and a grunt.

Mac slips a hand into Dennis’s hair. “Yeah?”

Dennis lifts his head, licks his lips slowly. Mac knows that look. It’s the one Dennis gave him before that time he blew him in the bathroom at Gugino’s. The same look he got the night he tied Mac to the bed and rode him slow and filthy, whispering words like “my angel” and “my good boy.” That look makes his cock twitch and his stomach twist, because it means that Dennis is about to get greedy.

“Mac,” says Dennis, low and throaty. Mac bites down on his own groan as one of Dennis’s hands unbuttons his jeans effortlessly and yanks at the zipper. “Mac, I need you to—”

“Yeah?” Mac grits out, resisting the urge to thrust his hips up to meet Dennis’s hand.

“If you could do anything to me, what would you do?” 

“I – huh?”

“If you could—” Dennis manages to get Mac’s jeans pushed down to mid-thigh, and, oh, shit, that is a hand on his dick. “Do _anything_ to me. What would you do?”

Mac swallows another moan as Dennis looks up, making that creepy eye contact as he just keeps innocently jerking him off. He kind of wants to say something totally non-sexual, just to be an asshole, but Dennis’s eyes are glazed and he keeps licking his lips and Mac can’t really put the words together.

“Anything?” he asks, clapping a possessive hand on the back of Dennis’s neck, and Dennis shivers, like he’s turned on by that alone. God. He’s so going to hell for this. He looks down at Dennis, expecting a snicker or a sigh or an unimpressed sneer. But instead, Dennis just looks up at him, pupils blown in the low light of the darkening living room, and Mac tightens his hand on the back of Dennis’s neck.

The thing is, Dennis likes getting used. Only on the weird nights, and he’s never learned how to ask for it like a real man, but Mac is one hundred percent okay with that, even if it takes him longer to suss out what he’s looking for.

“I guess,” Mac says, scraping his fingers lightly across Dennis’s scalp, “I’d put you on the bed. Spread you out and tie you up and shit. You want that?”

Dennis nods, something tightening in his face. “Yeah. I need you… Fuck me.”

Dennis is a forest fire. Mac is kindling at the ready. They stare at each other for a second longer, before Mac nods. “Yeah. Shit. Yeah. Awesome.” 

Dennis’s face is flushed, and his hand is slack on Mac’s dick, breathing heavily. “Do it,” he says, choking on the words. “Fucking do it.”

“I am so gonna do it,” Mac says, releasing his grip on Dennis’s hair and pulling away, rearranging himself and divesting himself of his jeans. “Go. Your room. Take your clothes off, get on the bed.” 

Dennis nods agreeably. He pops his shirt off, dropping it on the couch as he walks, and moves down to palm at his own dick through his jeans. Mac laughs, kind of, and slaps his hand away.

“Yeah, touch it now,” he says, kind of getting into this more and more. “In a minute you won’t be able to.” Dennis shoots him an impenetrable look from the bedroom door, and Mac grins back, a little bit sadistic. He’s learned from the best.

Mac starts to move back, stumbling over the jeans that are now halfway down his thighs, and impatiently yanks them the rest of the way down, kicking out of the legs and letting them land wherever as he strides toward the living room closet. He knows where Dennis keeps his… stuff. There’s a length of rope and a pile of zip ties and a few rolls of duct tape in one of the blue plastic bins underneath the ironing board.

As he enters Dennis’s bedroom, he bites down on his bottom lip so hard he tastes blood. Dennis is kneeling, fully nude on the bed, lazily stroking his cock as he locks eyes with Mac. All Mac can think to say is, “You ready?”

“Clearly,” Dennis says, shaking his head. Always in control, even when he doesn’t want to be. It kind of pisses Mac off.

Rolling his eyes, Mac reaches down to encircle Dennis’s wrists with his own fingers. He kisses each of them reverently, on the place where his pulse still practically beats through the skin. “Together or apart?”

“Apart,” says Dennis. He stretches them out to opposite ends of the headboard, crucifixion-style. Mac has to straddle Dennis’s chest awkwardly to wrap them in the rope.

“Good,” Mac says absently, tugging at the second knot. It seems like it’ll hold, he’s not bad at this part. He fumbles a little as he tucks the ends of the rope in, just trying to make it neat and tidy, and Dennis exhales impatiently.

“Oh, come on,” Dennis snaps, testing the restraints with a couple careful tugs as Mac slides back down to straddle his legs instead. “It’s not the fucking Boy Scouts.”

“You’re running your mouth way too much, dude,” Mac says, sliding the lightest of hands along Dennis’s dick. “It’s gonna get you in trouble someday.”

Dennis sucks in a breath and replies, a challenge in a low, hissing tone: “Then why don’t you shut me up?”

Mac considers the proposition, then hops off the bed and snatches a tie from Dennis’s dresser. It’s one of his nicer ones, blue silk printed with faint silver dots the size of pinpricks. “Open your fucking mouth,” Mac says, as he slides it through his fingers, and as Dennis does, he reaches down and triple-wraps it around his jaw, thick folds between his teeth and nimble fingers pulling the knot tight. It’s hardly enough to keep him quiet, he could easily make himself heard through it if he tried, but that’s not the point. The point is that he’s got too much of a mouthful to talk intelligibly, and for some reason, seeing Dennis like this is making Mac want to eat him alive.

“Oh, man.” Mac runs a hand through his own hair, sounding overwhelmed. “Shit. You look so good like that, Dennis, you don’t even know—” Dennis lets out a muffled noise, and Mac smiles in spite of himself and his role. He strokes Dennis’s brow, cheeks, temples, fingertips running lightly along his face as if the word of God were written there in braille. He threads one hand through the soft curls on Dennis’s head, inhaling deep, grounding breaths to tether both of them to the earth, before tugging lightly at his hair and saying, “Yeah. Good. Hang on a sec.”

Mac steps away, holding Dennis’s gaze like it’s a challenge or a gauntlet thrown. Dennis can only watch as Mac shrugs out of his own t-shirt, letting it puddle on the floor. He ghosts feather-light touches down Dennis’s neck and sternum, feeling out the smooth ripple of lithe muscles and hard bone. Dennis is sinuous and angular. There’s no give when Mac touches him, only the decisive power of a body that seems to press back against his touch. 

It kind of freaks him out how much he’s getting off on this. This isn’t him. He’s not Dennis, he doesn’t have the same creepy control fantasies. But instead of canceling out the desire, his fear just rachets it up more, which in turn freaks him out more. He sets aside the thoughts of how wrong this is, wraps them up neatly and places them in a drawer he’ll reopen when they’re finished. His shame drawer. Not that Dennis, flat on his back and splayed out like a snow angel on his zillion-thread-count sheets, would know anything about that. 

Mac wants to ruin him, go tromping through that fallen snow and leave a trail written in bite marks and bruises. 

“Wow,” Mac says. “I could do anything to you right now.”

And he could, that’s the thing. Dennis is completely at his mercy, bound and gagged with the hidden camera running somewhere, and Mac could easily pull out all kinds of dickish behavior, leave him there and walk out or worse – and what’s _really_ fucked up is that the thought thrills Mac more than it disturbs him.

He looks at Dennis, and Dennis looks back, and Mac knows that he’s thinking the same thing, it’s there in the way his pupils are blown against the dim light of his bedroom – 

Dennis lets out another muffled groan, eyes narrowing as Mac clambers onto the bed and runs his rough hands up soft, feminine thighs, followed in turn by little bites and soft licks to soothe them over. Dennis tastes like nothing in particular that Mac has ever been able to place, salt and skin and musk but something strangely metallic as well. He’s squirming as Mac gets closer and closer to his dick, as much as his bonds will allow, and by the time Mac’s tonguing up behind his balls, he _thrashes_.

Mac laughs. “Cool it,” he says. “You’re gonna sprain something.” Then he drops his head back down and takes just the tip of Dennis’s cock in his mouth, sucking softly around the swollen head and digging his fingertips into his thighs simultaneously. He can feel all of Dennis’s muscles tense and twitch involuntarily as he quickens his pace a bit. Mac closes his eyes as he speeds up, allows Dennis to be all he can taste and smell and hear – and there’s that unmistakable sound, rhythmic and wet and indescribably lewd, as he bobs up and down on Dennis’s dick. 

Dennis is getting noisy as fuck, even with the gag. But that’s okay, it just gets Mac harder for it, his fingers clamping down on the insides of Dennis’s spread thighs as he swallows deep around him. He could do this all night, teasing out those muffled, inarticulate groans, except for the fact that he really does want to fuck Dennis, so he makes the split-second decision and pulls off with the filthiest suction sound known to man. He wipes his mouth roughly on the back of his hand as Dennis lets out a strangled cry behind the gag, and Mac scrambles up the bed, straddling Dennis roughly, their bodies sliding against each other already slick with sweat. He lowers his face to Dennis’s and licks along the tie, like some kind of filthy French kiss. Through the soaking silk, Dennis pushes back with eager tongue and teeth, before Mac groans and rips it away, replacing the tie with his own hot mouth.

Dennis’s wrists jerk uselessly against the ropes as he moans wordlessly into Mac’s mouth, and Mac pulls away, gives him one good smack across the face. For a moment, the handprint stays there on his face, until Dennis flushes brilliantly red. “You dickless fucker,” he mumbles, pushing back. A challenge.

“Dickless? Uh-uh. Too much cock for you, maybe,” Mac laughs, tracing Dennis’s lips with his fingers, thumbing at his bottom lip playfully. He presses two fingers into Dennis’s spit-slicked mouth, watches as those bright pink lips hollow around them, sucking hard like he’s putting on a show. Fuck, he’s so hard, grinding his cock against Dennis’s abdomen like a fucking teenager, panting a little at the friction of it all. If he doesn’t actually fuck Dennis within the next few minutes, he’s pretty sure he’s gonna die. 

With a sigh, Mac pulls away and gropes blindly in the bedside drawer for the bottle of lube. He slicks up his fingers and teases a slow, wet circle around Dennis’s hole before pressing inside. Dennis gasps and bucks against him. One finger, then he quickly adds another, and he knows Dennis can take him only after two, knows how much he likes the burn and the ache afterward. “You good?” he asks, just to be sure. 

Normally, Dennis would roll his eyes and shoot him a razor-sharp glare, but he looks too far gone to even put the words together. “Jesus,” he says, letting his head loll back to hit the headboard as he arches his back against the mattress. “ _Please_.”

Mac will let the whole taking-the-Lord’s-name-in-vain thing slide for the moment. “Yeah, you’re good,” he says, slicking up his own cock slowly, teasingly, moving way too slow for even his own good. “You want this dick, huh? Want me to fuck you until you can’t even move those pretty lips to thank me?” He’s pressing up against Dennis’s hole now, and as Dennis exhales from the tension, Mac takes hold of his cock with one hand and begins to firmly press inside.

He’s so tight and hot inside and Mac stoically holds out for about five seconds before Dennis relaxes and actually presses harder against Mac, moving against him as much as the ropes will allow. With a gasp, he pulls back out, inch by inch, then plunges back in, and the slick, dirty friction is what finally breaks him. Every overextended muscle in Dennis’s body is flexing rapidly, arms writhing in his bonds as he wraps his legs around Mac’s body, and Mac gasps despite himself as Dennis groans, “Fuck, Mac, you’re so _strong_ –”

Mac leans forward, so close to Dennis’s face that they practically share the same breath, oxygen and carbon dioxide comingling as they fuck. “I wish you could see yourself right now, fuck, Den, you look –” and Dennis nearly sobs, “I wish I could see –”

He rocks into Dennis, who moans loudly, maybe exaggerated, maybe not. “Hit me again,” Dennis breathes, and Mac doesn’t hesitate before smacking him hard, first across one side of the face and then the other, once and then twice on either side, leaving twin handprints on brilliantly flushing cheeks. He looks deep into Dennis’s eyes as he licks at his own palm, then drops down to grab Dennis’s cock, stroking at the same rate he’s pounding into him, a squeezing pull in time with a stabbing thrust. He’s fast approaching his own climax, but there’s no way he’s going to come before Dennis, who is still trying fruitlessly to writhe up into the depth and pace he wants. Mac leans in close to his face, exhales one hot hard breath against Dennis’s mouth as he jerks him off with sex-clumsied fingers and, above all, keeps fucking into him, so hot and tight and perfect like he was created just for this purpose, as if God put him on the earth to lead Mac McDonald into temptation and sin and feel so fucking perfect doing it.

“You’re so beautiful,” Mac breathes, “so fucking perfect, God, Den, you’re gonna be the death of me –”

Mac’s not sure if it’s the words or the hand or his dick inside him, but Dennis fucking _explodes_ , knocking pillows off the bed, headboard slamming against the wall with a good, solid _thunk_. His body clenches viselike around Mac’s cock as he throws his head back and grunt-groans wordlessly through it. Mac’s too worked up to withstand it: he comes too, just a few thrusts later, half in and half out of Dennis’s body.

When he comes to, moments later, Mac reaches up and unties the ropes binding Dennis’s wrists. Dennis lets his arms fall bonelessly to the bed. Mac grabs at them blindly, slumping on top of Dennis’s chest, and holds them in his hands as they breathe in tandem.

“That was good,” Mac says finally, but Dennis doesn’t really reply, just breathes out an “Mm” as Mac runs his thumbs absently across the spots on his wrists that the ropes rubbed raw. The skin up there is marked up so bad he’ll need to wear long sleeves for a couple days. Mac is exhausted in every way it’s possible to be, drained and wincing with exertion as he shifts in position on top of Dennis, whose eyes, shut softly, barely stir.

He’ll stay there until the sticky heat gets to be too much, and then he’ll duck back to his room, pray the rosary and ask forgiveness even as he knows in his heart that he’ll never be truly absolved. I need you, Dennis always tells Mac, and often he means it like needing a friend but more often Mac thinks he means it like needing a tool, not just a means to an end but a crucial nail or linchpin that keeps the rust and razor blades inside of him from spilling out for the rest of the world to see. It’s always like this – fury-fraught sex like a sizzling fever dream, sex so undeniably mindblowing that they can’t not try it again. Nothing for weeks and weeks on end, and then over and over during the course of a single fucked-out weekend, browning out from tequila and the bloodbuzz they give each other. It’s an absurd freak twist of fate, a sort of stray cat they’ve fed and encouraged and let settle into their home, knowing fully well that they’re stuck with it forever. 

It’s the kind of bad decision Mac can’t pray away.


End file.
